t nothing was finally
settled between herself and Henry, but Moravia felt there could be only
one end; she knew he was too unselfish to hold Sabine for an instant,
once he understood that she would rather be free; so it was in the
character of fond friend that she put out her hand and grasped his in
silent sympathy.

"Henry," she whispered with tears in her usually merry eyes, "my heart
is breaking for you. Can I do anything?"

He would rather that she had not spoken of his sorrow at all, being a
singularly reticent person, but he was touched by the love and
solicitude in her face, and took and held her white fingers.

"You are always so good to me. But there is nothing to be done."

She slid her other hand into his arm and drew him on into the little
sitting-room which was always set apart for her, close to her room.

"I am going to take care of you for the next hour, anyway--you look
frozen," she told him. "I shall make you sit in the big chair by the
fire while I give you something to drink. It is only half-past six."

Then with fond severity she pushed him into a comfortable _bergere_,
and, leaving him, gave an order to her maid in the next room to bring
some brandy. But before it came Moravia went back again, and drawing a
low stool sat down almost at Henry's feet.

The fire and her gentleness were soothing to him, as he lay there
huddled in the chair. The physical reaction was upon him from the shock
and he felt almost as though he were going to faint.

Moravia watched him anxiously for some time without speaking--he was so
very pale. Then she got up quickly when the maid brought in the tray,
and pouring him out some brandy she brought it over and knelt down by
his side.

"Drink this," she commanded kindly. "I shall not stir until you do."

Henry took the glass with nerveless fingers and gulped down the liquid
as he was bid, but although she took the glass from him she did not get
off her knees; indeed, when she had pushed it on to the tray near her,
she came closer still and laid her cheek against his coat, taking his
right hand and chafing it between her own to bring back some life into
him, while she kept up a murmured flow of sweet sympathy--as one would
talk to an unhappy child.

Henry was not actually listening to her, but the warmth and the great
vibrations of love coming from her began to affect him unconsciously,
so that he slipped his arm round her and drew her to his side.

"Henry," she wh